"...Oh you have [i]got[/i] to be fucking kidding me," Gareth groaned, putting his palm to the face and slowly sliding it off. His communicator buzzed with what was probably somebody telling him that, 'hey, that kid we have caged back at the high security facility is busy wrecking shit, you should probably get back.' It wasn't as if it were blaring over the goddamn news, idiots. He looked down at the bag in his hand, popping open the foodstuffs and filling his mouth with as much food as he could before handing the rest over to a random homeless man and getting the hell out of their. Hey, no use hunting on an empty stomach. Besides, the guys are probably dead anyway, what with the Heretic breaking out basically right under their feet. Why not give a guy who actually needs it?

[center]***[/center]

Gareth hadn't taken a rooftop route this time, not when he was absolutely sure doing so would end up fucking up the snipers' aim. Because there were going to be snipers. If there weren't, he'd be filing out several strongly-worded reports with plenty of expletives. And maybe giving a few people head injuries. He was hidden nearby, a bit away from the rest of the mooks preparing for when the little shit finally got out. Not that they'd be able to stop him, if what everything they said was correct. He stuffed his pockets into his red coat and breathed out a sigh. The tension was thick, almost as thick as the blast doors that were likely gonna be burst open in the next few seconds.

"Should probably make preparations..." he murmured, putting his hand to his chin in thought, "...No, what can I do that these guys can't replicate with a vast usage of guns? Looks like I'm stuck on clean-up duty, or waiting until it looks like everyone's gonna die."